St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1887-06-23
The GaIedunia,r.
THE LUCKY CLEANER.

her mother Ildu 10 lace Tile WOIlu aiOHcs
Nor was this all. Mr.. Miller had
been generally considered one of the
wealthiest farmers in the fneighbOr-
hood, but he was now found to have
died insOlvent. For years he had
been living beyond his means. sfsia
al told you So" said one of the
wise-acres,a "when he sent his darter
to school in Richmond, as if the
schools here warn't good enough l
knowed how it would be-"
The farm was mortgaged for its en-
tire value, and was Immediately fore
closed and when other debts were
paid there was not a shilling left.
Edith and her mother would have
had no roof even to shelter them if
Edith had not inherited from a maiden
aunt little, tumble-dOwn cottage,
with an .asre or two of pasture land,
on the ont skirts of the village. Thith-
er the two mOurners repaired with the
few bits of furniture the law had al
lowed them, and began the hardest of
all struggles, the battle with poverty
on the part of wOman-a battle render
ed the more difficult in this case be-
cause both had been tenderly, even
luxuriOusly nurtured, and had never
before known what it was to have to
deny themselves.
al am such burden to you, Edith y
mOaned the widow, who was now
completely broken down, not only in
spirits but in health also. "If it
wasn't for me you could go on some
where and earn your own living like
lady. You could teach music, or be a
governess, or obtain situation in
school. But while Pm an invalid, and
L suppose l shall now always be one,
you are tied to my bedside"
Edith was different character from
her mother. She was more energetic,
more self-reliant, more heroic. She
had also the courage of youth on her
side.
ave shall get on famously," she
said. "What with my needle, our
cow and the vegetable garden | shall
make, we shall get along famOusly."
So this refined, cultivated girl, who
had been reared, as it were, amid rose
leaves, went to work uncOmplaingly to
support her mother and herself. For
a while, too, it seemed as if her conf
dence was prophetic. Mrs. Miller re-
covered her health so as to be able to
be about. Everything went we'll.
At the end of the first summer Edith,
proudly counting up her gains, said
Mother, dear, we have not only sup
ported ourselves, but we have saved
money; we are getting rich!"
But, alas different times came. In
the autumn Mrs. Miller fell ill of rheu-
matte fever, for the situation of the
house was low and damp. She had to
take her bed again. She was no longer
able to help Edith with her needle.
Poor Edith could now earn but little
herself, her time being occupied so
much in nursing her mother. The
DOCTORS bill and the medicines soon
absorbed her small savings. She be-
gan to fall behind. The COW finally
had to be sold, and at last, in order to
avert absolute starvation, Edith was
compelled to mortgage the cottage.
In the two years that followed, mat
tiers went from bad to worse. Mrs.
Miller remained bed-ridden. Do all
she could, Edith was unable to make
both ends meet. The interest on the
mortgage fell into arrears. A solicitor
named Jupp, who represented the
holder, began to clamOr for the ar
rears. At last, in the third summer of
Edith's Orphanage, came legal no.
tice that unless the interest was paid
up in full, the cottage would be sold
The day before this notice was serv-
ed, Edith had gone in person to the
attorneys hoping to touch his heart.
But he was deaf to her tears and rep
reservations. He had the reputation
of being merciless, and Edith saw now
that the character was deserved.
otis no use your coming here ~ he
said rudely. 81 am acting for others
and not for myself. You'd better
spend your time in getting together
the interest you owe. l can't inter
fere. Bring the money, or the law
must take its course !"
When Mrs. Miller heard the result
of this interview, and when, after
ward, the formal notice was served,
she mOaned feebly, and turned her
face to the wall.
eve shall have to beg or go to the
pOOr-hOuse, or die in the road" she
said. ooh, that l should ever have
lived to see this day !"
Edith herself was at the end of her
resources. For while she lay pros
trate on the bed, where she had flung
herself beside her mother, the two
mingling their tears.
But the brave girl rallied at last.
She remembered that there was moth
ing in the house to eat, and that she
had no money to buy anything with.
AT first she thought OF going to the
village store and begging for little |
more credit, but when she recalled |
how CURLY this had been refused, only
week before, she abandoned the idea
in despair.
Suddenly it flashed on her that the
wheat was being cut on the great
Wheatland farms. In the sources |
time the poor had been allowed to
come with a sickle and cut what they
wished. 1t was a scriptural custom,
which the Wheatlands had maintained
from father to son for generations.
The old squire was dead, but Edith
had no doubt that the privilege would
still be accorded aud, looping up her
skirt to look as much like one of her
rustic neighbors as possible, she took
a sickle and went forth like Ruth of
old.
Her heart did not begin to fail her
until just before she reached the har-
vest field, when she remembered that
the heirs of the squire, whoever they |
were, were said to be abroad and that |
Mr.. Jupp was their agent.
"New men, new measures" she said, |
and stopped at the gate, with a beat
ing heart. "What if am driven off ~ |
But the thought of her sick mother,
and of the empty cupboard, made her
She opened the gate and went in.
The reapers were sweeping on |
ahead, in a long, graceful line Others,
far behind, were binding up their
sheaves, and an overseer, or what |
seemed one, was on horseback, direct
inc oDerations